The world around Noah blurred, the chaotic din of the battle slipping away like a half-remembered dream. He felt his consciousness waver—his body screaming in pain from the beating he’d taken—and then, in the space of a heartbeat, everything changed.
He opened his eyes to a vast, ruined throne room, the air weighed down by the stench of dried blood and centuries of decay. The stone walls, once grand, stood cracked and leaning, battered by time and tragedy. Torn banners fluttered weakly in the stale air, their regal insignias half-rotted into obscurity. Rusted suits of armor, the corpses within them long decomposed, lay scattered across the warped marble floor in a testament to some ancient, savage battle.
At the center of this forsaken chamber loomed a massive throne, drenched in congealed crimson. On it slouched a young man, his long hair cascading in tangled waves, his eyes an eerie azure that glowed faintly against the gloom. A crimson fur coat—more regal shroud than practical clothing, draped across his shoulders, caked in grime and gore. A crooked crown perched on his head, tarnished metal clashing with what must have once been regal majesty.
Leaning casually against the throne’s side, immaculate amid the ruin, stood his sword, untouched by rust or decay, its blade radiating a subdued brilliance that defied the shadows all around.
The man’s lips curled into a mocking smile the instant he registered Noah’s presence. “I leave you alone for a few moments,” he said, his voice echoing through the deserted hall, “and you’re already nearly dead. You really are an idiot, my dear champion.”
Despite his lingering agony, Noah clenched his fists, ignoring the raw pain in his limbs. “I have to get back,” he declared, voice husky with determination. “I’m not done—I can’t be.”
In answer, the young man on the throne gave a derisive laugh. “The power you crave, the power that may let you match your foe—well, that’s something I can grant. But first, you must convince me you’re worthy, dear hero.”
Noah’s chest tightened with defiance and desperation. “Worthy or not,” he hissed, eyes alight, “I’ll take that power if that’s what it takes to protect my friends. Let the heavens be damned—I’ll drag it from you, tooth and nail, if that’s what I must do.”
For a moment, a cold amusement played across the man’s face. Then his eyes flickered with interest, and he reclined further into his blood-soaked throne. “Such fire,” he remarked with a soft chuckle. “That is what I’ve been waiting to see. Come, then—show me the resolve that sets you apart from the rest. Take by force what you so desperately desire.”
His voice reverberated off the broken walls, filling the desolate hall with a sense of forbidden challenge. Noah felt the ache in his bones, but he also felt something else stirring—a spark of adrenaline and determination, fueled by the echo of his friends’ plight. There, in the eerie hush, he braced himself before this Lion King of the Endless Dawn, prepared to battle for a power that might turn the tide of fate—and save everyone he held dear.
Noah readied himself, heart pounding as he felt a surge of adrenaline course through his veins. But before he could even raise his blade, the young man appeared in front of him in a blur, sword glinting under the throne room’s ominous, flickering light.
In a single, fluid motion, the young man slashed upward. A blinding burst of light swallowed Noah's vision, slicing through his senses like a lance of pure radiance.
“That is your first death,” the man said coldly. His voice echoed around the silent, bloodstained halls.
An instant later, Noah found himself reappearing at the same spot, the pain of that fatal blow still fresh in his mind. He gasped, body trembling. “So… fast,” he breathed.
Across the ruined throne, the young man let out a low chuckle. “You can’t truly die in this realm,” he said, eyes flashing with merciless amusement. “So I’ll kill you over… and over… until you show me something worth my time. Let’s play.”
With that, he launched himself at Noah in a whirl of crimson and steel. Noah ducked beneath the man’s lethal swipe, adrenaline spiking as the blade narrowly missed his neck. But the reprieve was short-lived. Twisting on his heel, the man kicked Noah’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. There was no hesitation—he drove his sword into Noah’s chest, extinguishing his life a second time.
Noah reappeared once more, panting, eyes darting frantically around the room. His chest still burned with the echo of the wound. Spotting a discarded sword, he lunged and scooped it up, desperate for any advantage.
From his blood-soaked throne, the man shook his head, smirking. “That fool taught you some hand-to-hand moves? Allow me to demonstrate something far more elegant.” He lifted his sword, and a gleam of excitement touched his gaze. “Martial Arts, King’s Royal Arts. First Step—Quick Step.”
Noah saw it—faint ripples of light on the stone floor, like water reflecting a hidden moon. The man stepped onto each luminescent ripple, each step fueling his speed until he became a blur of radiant motion. Noah’s heart lurched.
“Second Step, Sky Splitter,” the man announced, voice echoing across the desolation. In an instant, he materialized right before Noah. Another upward slash of sheer brilliance tore through the air—and Noah’s world turned white once again as he was obliterated, cut down for the third time.
He felt only a moment of blinding pain—then darkness—and knew, upon returning, that this deadly cycle had only begun.
Noah died. Over and over. Each time, Arthur's sword cut him down with dazzling precision, light flashing in a brutal symphony of pain. Yet with each death, Noah’s frantic observations began to crystallize into something resembling strategy.
By the seventh time he fell, gasping at the moment of resurrection, he at last noticed the pattern. Arthur’s style always opened with Quick Step, the first move to build momentum. Everything else sprang from that initial surge of speed.
“I just need to stop that first step,” Noah muttered, eyes narrowed. He’d returned to life yet again, determined not to waste the fleeting advantage.
Arthur raised his blade—unhurried, almost lazy. The ripples of light that heralded his Quick Step shimmered at his feet, and he poised to dart along them. But Noah acted faster. Spotting a discarded spear, he lunged for it and, with all the might he could muster, hurled it directly toward the first bright ripple. The spear stabbed into the stone floor. Instantly, every luminescent ripple ahead of it flickered and vanished.
Arthur paused in mid-step, forced to break off his move. “Oh?” he remarked, blinking as though mildly amused.
Noah breathed heavily, clenching his fists. “Your attacks are powerful,” he said, “but if I shut down your build-up, you’ve got nothing.” Without hesitating, he dashed forward, sword raised, swinging it in a wide arc at Arthur’s flank.
Arthur’s reaction was swift yet uninterested. He raised his own sword in a casual block, each movement deceptively effortless. “How cute,” he said, that mocking lilt returning to his tone. “Let’s see you stop this one.”
This time, the ripples were smaller, fainter—unfolding like an intricate tapestry of light from in front of Noah to somewhere behind him. Before Noah could fully register their positioning, Arthur landed on each ripple with uncanny speed, doubling and redoubling his pace.
“Seventh Step: Knight Killer,” Arthur declared. His blade pulsed, glowing with a harsh brilliance as he drove it mercilessly through Noah’s back. There was an explosion of agony, then darkness: Noah died, yet again.
He reappeared on the cold stone, chest heaving, frustration and fear mingling in his eyes. “Dammit,” he hissed, voice trembling as he clutched at his re-formed body. “I’ve… gotta do something.”
Taking a shaky breath, he forced himself upright and focused on the faint memory of Arthur’s stance. “First Step—Quick Step,” Noah said aloud, attempting to replicate the same phenomenon. Flickers of light rippled underfoot—poorly placed, awkward in spacing. Still, the instant he set foot on them, he felt a spike of speed. His heart leapt; maybe he could match Arthur’s pace if only he refined this technique.
But that hope evaporated in seconds. Arthur began his own Quick Step, launching into the ripples with a fluidity that dwarfed Noah’s clumsy copy. In half the time, he was upon Noah in a coalescing blur of gold and crimson.
“Nice try,” Arthur said, his tone tipping into something almost genial. “I do plan to teach you these techniques eventually, so I’m pleased to see you learning.” He paused, letting the tension build, then continued quietly, “Step Eight: Annihilation.”
A flash of light cascaded around them, spinning into a whirlwind of steel. Noah scarcely caught the flicker of Arthur’s blade—then his vision exploded in agonizing white. A barrage of blows shredded through him, leaving hundreds of holes riddling his form. The agony was too absolute for a scream, it was simply over, Noah’s life snuffed once more.
Darkness again. Then, in a flicker, he was back—gasping and on his knees, his body apparently whole but mind reeling with the echoes of that terrible onslaught. Arthur stood across from him, sword resting on his shoulder, eyes gleaming with cold amusement.
“Tell me, Noah, how does it feel to die?” Arthur’s voice rang through the desolate throne room, cold and unrelenting. “Not this trivial back-and-forth we’ve had here—but really die. Like when the Wing of Wrath ripped out your heart before your very eyes. How did it feel, knowing your parents were murdered, your siblings scattered to who-knows-where? How does it feel to be so powerless while everyone you love falls?”
His words sliced deeper than any blade. Noah’s heart pounded, memories of that agonizing moment flashing across his mind, the numbing terror of a heart pulled from his chest, the haunting grief for his lost family. Each phrase felt like another thrust of a dagger.
Arthur’s icy eyes shone with ruthless purpose. “If you can’t beat me here, then Ava, your precious love, will die as well. So fight, Noah—fight with all you have. Show me you can protect her.”
Noah’s fists clenched around his sword hilt; a rippling surge of draconic energy glowed in his pupils. “You’re right,” he said through gritted teeth, voice cracking with bitterness. “I won’t lose, not yet—not until I save them all. Even if I die a billion times, I’ll make sure…to cut you at least once.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Arthur smirked with predatory glee. “First Step—Quick Step!” he roared.
“First Step—Quick Step!” Noah echoed, launching himself forward in parallel.
They both darted across the cracked tiles, stepping on luminous ripples that magnified their speed. Noah’s own were rougher, less refined, but still far better organized than his clumsy first attempts.
“Second Step—Sky Splitter!” Noah shouted. An upward slash tore through the air, aimed squarely at Arthur’s torso, the blade gleaming with raw will.
“Third Step—Earth Splitter!” Arthur countered, bringing his own blade down in a devastating arc.
Their swords clashed, sparking with violent brilliance. Though Arthur carried more force, Noah pressed on, refusing to yield. Seizing a moment’s opening, he called upon another Quick Step, slipping free of the lock and vanishing behind Arthur in a burst of speed.
“Third Step—Earth Splitter!” Noah repeated, blade descending in a savage overhead strike.
Arthur pivoted with unnerving ease, his voice low with approval. “Not bad at all. But let’s turn up the lesson. Quick Step plus Annihilation.”
His movements blurred, a swarm of sword strikes engulfed Noah, each blow a flash of lethal light. Yet in the instant of near-certain doom, Noah’s draconic instincts seized control.
Noah’s eyes flared, casting a bright radiance. Arthur recoiled, shielding his gaze. “What—?!”
Taking that split-second advantage, Noah’s chest expanded, drawing in a surge of mana, and he roared, “Light Dragon Roar!”
A beam of searing brilliance erupted from his mouth. The radiant blast careened across the throne room, ramming into Arthur’s torso and hurling him backwards. Arthur’s boots scraped against the stone floor as he skidded across the bloodstained chamber, eyes wide in fleeting shock.
Noah, breathing heavily, dropped back into a guarded stance—heart hammering from this desperate gambit. Smoke and drifting motes of light hung in the still air, the echoes of his roar lingering in the ravaged hall. For an instant, both combatants locked eyes across the wreckage, each acknowledging the other’s rising strength.
Arthur twirled his sword, letting its tip slice the heavy air of the ruined throne room. “Here I thought heroes were supposed to cling to honor,” he mused coldly. “But you’re not a complete fool. That’s good, young hero. Let’s hurry this up—one final clash.” His eyes glowed with fierce intent. “What do you say?”
Noah steadied his ragged breathing, feeling his draconic blood pumping in his veins. “No holds barred,” he agreed, raising his chin in defiance.
A small laugh escaped Arthur’s lips. “A dangerous phrase to utter to someone who’s been holding back. So be it. Burn this technique into your memory before you rejoin your friends.” He drew a breath, focusing. “Quick Step.”
A flash of shimmering ripples—then Arthur was gone, moving so fast the light trails themselves seemed to blink out of existence. In the split second Noah registered the motion, Arthur stood directly before him, sword raised for a decisive blow.
“You’ve done well, young hero,” Arthur said quietly. “So receive my greatest technique. Tenth Step, Light That Burns the Heavens.”
Noah never saw the blade’s arc. His world drowned in a white brilliance, so pure and all-consuming that it felt like being devoured by the sky itself. Everything—pain, sight, sound—vanished.
With a gasp, Noah snapped awake. The real throne room materialized around him, swirling with tension and half-remembered agony. His body was still battered, but he was alive.
From a few paces away, Jackpot regarded him, lowering his half-lifted arm. “Oh good. I didn’t kill you by accident,” he remarked with something akin to relief.
Noah closed his eyes, collecting the lingering warmth of Arthur’s presence. He exhaled slowly, then spoke, his voice resonating with newfound conviction. “Awaken—Lion King of the Endless Dawn, Arthur Pendragon.”
In an explosion of brilliant light, a sword manifested in Noah’s grasp. Its pommel housed a radiant blue gem, while the grip was wrapped in black leather that molded perfectly to Noah’s hand. Gems of red and blue studded the guard, each sparkling with raw arcane power. The blade itself glowed intensely, etched with words in a language Noah couldn’t decipher—yet their meaning pulsed in his very soul.
A collective hush fell over the hall as Noah lifted the sword, its radiance painting the faces of his allies in awe. “I don’t need your training anymore, Jackpot,” he declared, leveling the blade at the Wing of Envy. “I’ve found a better teacher.”
Across the room, his party—Ava, Lucy, Adam, Cyrus, Cynthia—stared in a mixture of astonishment and hope. The blade’s glow danced over their expressions, igniting a fresh surge of courage in each of them. Their battered stance shifted; they stood straighter, spurred by Noah’s new power.
And at the center of it all, Noah felt the lion-hearted might of Arthur Pendragon coursing through him, ready to turn the tides of this impossible battle.
“This is why you don’t hold back against heroes,” Blank remarked with an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms under his plague doctor mask. “They always manage to pull some miraculous power-up at the brink of defeat.”
“And here I thought I’d get away with teaching him a little humility,” Jackpot replied, shaking his head. “My apologies, Blank. Perhaps we’ve wasted too much time with all this… banter. Our workload’s grown more complicated than originally planned.”
Blank’s eyes—mostly hidden beneath his mask—seemed to gleam with renewed interest. “So it has,” he said lightly. Then his laughter echoed, filling the grandiose throne room with an unsettling mirth. “But how could I resist? The treasure trove we’ve stumbled upon here—three demonic eyes and two godsouls—makes it worth the detour.”
Across the chamber, Medusa stiffened, her regal composure cracking. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded, voice thrumming with anger.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Blank replied, as though explaining a mild inconvenience. “I’m going to betray you, dear lady. I’ll rip out your eyes myself, then claim the demonic eyes your children possess. And let’s not forget those god souls—Time and Space both, I believe. I’m quite looking forward to obtaining all that power.”
The chamber went unnervingly silent. Then, with a theatrical sigh, Blank let his gaze drift toward the others, lingering finally on Cyrus and Cynthia. “Ah yes, I almost forgot: Cyrus, Cynthia… Medusa is your mother. Hope that clarifies a few things.” He offered a half-hearted chuckle, as though delivering a tasteless joke at a dinner party.
“Sir, that might have been a bit too blunt,” Jackpot said softly, massaging his temple in exasperation.
“You bastard!” Medusa erupted. She launched herself from her serpent-carved throne, the air around her crackling with dark energy. “You promised not to say anything!”
Her fist turned black, flesh distorting into a writhing serpent of Black Mist that lunged for Blank’s head. With a graceful sidestep, he evaded the strike. The Black Mist hissed, scattering into a swarm of smaller vipers that coiled around him, hungry to consume.
Blank’s grin widened beneath his mask, relishing her fury. “Did I truly anger you, my lady?” he mused, batting away one of the miniature snakes. “I assumed the part where I said I’d tear out your eye and betray you would be the real kicker—but apparently, me revealing your family secret is what truly set you off!” He let out a laugh, high and mocking, echoing against the cavernous walls.
As tension thickened in the air like a storm on the verge of breaking, Cyrus and Cynthia exchanged stunned, furious glances—shock and betrayal evident on both faces. Noah, battered yet newly armed with his Regalia, tightened his grip on his sword. Ava, Lucy, and Adam braced themselves beside him.
“Jackpot, Adam—hold off the riffraff for me,” Blank commanded with cool confidence, flicking a stray droplet of black mist from his plague doctor mask.
From across the room, Jackpot exhaled a weary sigh, as though used to dealing with such abrupt orders. “My boss really does need to stop dumping major bombshells without warning,” he muttered under his breath.
A grim look crossed Noah’s face. He turned toward Adam, tension flaring in his draconic eyes. “Adam… what does he mean? Why are you helping Blank?”
Adam hesitated, gaze dropping briefly to the stone floor before meeting Noah’s confused stare. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Blank rescued my daughter—he also promised to heal her eyes if I cooperated. I won’t kill you, but I can’t let you stand in his way.” Stepping closer to Jackpot, he planted himself between Noah’s allies and Blank’s ambition.
Seeing the lines drawn, Noah gave a curt nod, steel in his voice as he laid out instructions: “Cynthia, Cyrus, Lucy—you handle Adam. Ava and I will take on Jackpot. No holding back.”
As if to punctuate his decision, Noah’s foot slid across a faintly glowing ripple of light. “First Step—Quick Step.” In an instant, he vanished in a blur, reappearing directly in front of Jackpot.
“Second Step—Sky Splitter!” he roared, blade sweeping upward with deadly speed.
Jackpot pivoted, leaning away from the slash with uncanny grace, the shimmering scales of Leviathan swirling across his hands. “Very nice,” he said mildly, stepping back to gauge Noah’s next approach. But Noah pressed on, refusing to grant a moment’s reprieve. Each time he used Quick Step, he darted unpredictably, forcing Jackpot to stay on the defensive.
Meanwhile, the entire throne room surged into chaotic motion. Blank, ripping off his own fingers and shaping them into twisted flesh-weapons, launched them at Medusa, who retaliated with whips of black mist that shrieked and hissed across the polished floor.
Cyrus, Cynthia, and Lucy encircled Adam, whose unstoppable spear skills let him fend off their combined assault. Ice formations from Cyrus’s ability mixed with Lucy’s vine-laced strikes, while Cynthia’s segmented whip-blade, Yamata no Orochi, struck from unexpected angles—yet Adam met each blow with practiced, chilling precision.
Across broken fragments of marble and battered pillars, Ava slipped into invisibility. She ghosted around the perimeter, waiting for the perfect moment to land a lethal strike on Jackpot. Her heart pounded, tension thickening with every thunderous crash of power in the chamber.
Noah’s relentless offensive pinned Jackpot’s attention, each flurry of sword thrusts and Quick Step maneuvers edging the Wing of Envy closer to a true challenge. With each teleport-like rush, Noah’s sword crackled with draconic energy, leaving faint scorch marks on the floor. Jackpot tightened his jaw, forced to adapt in a way he hadn’t predicted.
“What an improvement,” Jackpot observed, voice taut with guarded respect. A flick of his wrist conjured a ring of azure scales to parry a sudden lunge. “You’re no longer flailing about—you’ve become a real threat.”
Breathing hard, Noah flashed a fierce grin, the glow in his draconic eyes a testament to his unyielding will. “Don’t give me your compliments,” he snarled, each word cutting through the throne room’s chaos. “I’m still not satisfied.”
Across from him, Jackpot rolled his shoulders, the faint hum of Regalia-forged scales rippling along his arms. A flicker of amusement danced behind his mask. “That’s good, brat,” he replied. “You shouldn’t be satisfied… not yet.” With a fluid motion, he shaped the scaled plates from Leviathan into new weapons—dagger-like shards and elongated lance heads that hovered around him, poised for either offense or defense.
Their eyes locked, the thunder of distant clashes momentarily muted by the silent, smoldering tension between them. Both breathed raggedly, sweat tracing paths along their foreheads, each acutely aware that this exchange had transcended mere battle. Noah could feel the pressure emanating from Jackpot’s stance—like a coiled serpent, holding back just enough of his power to keep the balance.
The rest of the throne room remained in an uproar, but at the center of it all, it was Noah and Jackpot—locked in a stalemate, both refusing to concede a single inch. The draconic aura around Noah’s sword flared brighter with every heartbeat, while Jackpot’s crystal armaments shimmered in the torchlight like dozens of miniature moons.
“You’re holding back just enough to make this interesting,” Noah hissed, stepping forward to close the gap. His chest rose and fell, the strain evident but overshadowed by the spark of new determination in his eyes.
Jackpot’s mouth curved beneath his mask, half-smile and half-challenge. “Keep pushing me, hero,” he said softly, the promise of escalation seething in his voice. “If you want me to stop holding back… then earn it.”
In that suspended breath, the frantic symphony of collisions, roars, and spells raging around them pressed inward once again, an ominous reminder of the greater battle. Even so, the two combatants centered their focus on each other—hungry, perhaps, for the next move that would tip their fragile standstill into something fiercer, deadlier, final.
And for that instant, Noah swore he could see his own fiery resolve mirrored in Jackpot’s gaze, neither combatant willing to break the tension—each prepared to unleash something more. In the swirling dance of shattered marble and drifting embers, their confrontation reached its impasse, waiting for one decisive blow to erupt and shape the next chapter of this brutal conflict.